


After The End

by SecondSilk



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Community: reversathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-15
Updated: 2010-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-12 16:40:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondSilk/pseuds/SecondSilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the end of the war there are debriefings and secrets, and not everything is easy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After The End

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2007 Reversathon challenge on LiveJournal, before the release of Deathly Hallows.  
> Beta-ed by Emiime.

1.

Harry lay on his back and stared at the sky.

He thought in a vague, shapeless way, that he ought to help the others. But there was bone tiredness holding his limbs to the ground and he was sure all the work was already being done. Hestia, Tonks and Bill were going over the house for lingering spells and tracing the Death Eaters who had got away. Mrs Weasley and Augustus Pye were tending wounds and creating Portkeys to send the more gravely injured to St Mungo's.

Neville had a taken a hit for Harry and was critical. Fleur would need special care for weeks. Charlie was dead.

Harry swallowed and closed his eyes. It was over, he reminded himself. He had done all that he could do to make sure that it was over. Just not soon enough for too many people.

He heard someone approach and opened his eyes to find Ron looking down at him. Ron looked ridiculously skinny after several months of fighting and camping and living on scant rations. Ron nodded up the hill; back towards where the battle had been fought.

"Do you think she'll write about what happened?" Ron asked.

Harry turned his head and saw Hermione sitting on a rock, her back to them, her fingers stroking the spiral binding of the notebook she'd kept her research in.

"Hope not," Harry said.

He knew it wasn't fair how flat his voice was. Hermione had worked hard and she could do very well from writing about what happened.

Ron shrugged, "Me too," he said.

He dropped onto the grass beside Harry and stretched out to watch the clouds gather over the next rise. Harry couldn't muster the energy to tell him to piss off and check on his mother or his sister or any of the wounded. He was thankful Ron seemed content to lie on his back rather than ask questions.

Their peace was interrupted by Luna, who appeared quietly and watched them out of her wide pale eyes until Harry was tempted to hex her.

"Professor McGonagall requested I inform you that we will be returning to Hogwarts from here."

Ron pushed himself on his elbows. "Yeah, okay, thanks," he said.

"You are very welcome." She smiled warmly and floated away.

Ron huffed, amused. He scrambled to his feet and held a hand out to help Harry up.

"We should go get cleaned up."

Harry let Ron haul him to his feet. He followed Ron and Luna back towards the makeshift camp at the edge of what had become the battleground. Luna wandered one way and Ron and Harry went the other, reaching Remus, who was keeping a list of everyone who had come and gone. He wrote their names down and they walked past him to Apparate back to Hogsmeade.

2.

They all returned to the school for a dinner prepared by the house-elves. The meal was strangely jubilant as people forgot, for the moment, the absence of those who had been injured or killed. Harry pushed his food around his plate and tried to smile at Ron's series of lame jokes. He caught Mrs Weasley looking at him and hurried to eat some dinner, wondering how quickly he could leave.

Slowly the feeling wound down, as the adrenaline faded and McGonagall got out a bottle of blackcurrant rum. Finally the light faded, too, and the stars started to come out. Mr Weasley was telling Remus about Charlie, and Harry quietly got up from the table and left the hall. Hermione stayed to listen to Professor McGonagall and Moody tell each other what Dumbledore would have done, but Ron followed Harry through the empty corridors, up to the Gryffindor tower.

The boys' dormitory in the Gryffindor Tower looked just the same when they returned as it had when they had left two months before. Indeed, it was pretty much unchanged from the first time Harry had climbed the spiral staircase to bed. Harry lay on his bed, staring at his bed hangings, listening to Ron go about his nightly routine.

Ron came back into the room exactly when Harry expected. His voice was the new battle-worn, mature Ron when he asked, "Will you sleep?"

Harry snorted. "Will you?" he demanded. He sat up to glare at Ron properly.

Ron nodded sharply. "It's over, it's done. It's not getting any worse than it is now and I'll be tired tomorrow if I don't sleep."

Harry knew that Ron was right. He knew that tomorrow would be worse than the worst parts of today. Moody wanted everyone to tell him their exact movements to create a model of the battle. Hestia wanted Harry to describe every piece of magic he had used against Voldemort. And Harry still couldn't look at Mrs Weasley or think about Neville.

"You can sleep, Harry, it's over."

Harry nodded. If Ron could sleep with the image of Charlie's last fight fresh in his memory, Harry wasn't going to stop him. Harry pulled his covers back up and snuggled down into his bed.

But Ron didn't trust him. He sat down beside Harry's shoulder.

"I could sing a lullaby," he said.

Harry couldn't help but laugh. He raised an arm to thwack Ron. Ron yelped, indignant and Harry chuckled again.

Ron curled a hand around Harry's shoulder in silent comfort and pushed himself off Harry's bed. Harry could feel Ron watching him.

"Mum's good at Dreamless Sleep Potions," Ron offered. "I can go back downstairs and ask her to make one."

Harry shook his head; the thought of asking anything of Mrs Weasley made him feel ill. "I'll be okay. Just go to sleep."

Ron stepped away and Harry rolled over.

Just before he fell asleep, when he was sure that Ron wouldn't actually hear him, Harry said, "I'm sorry about Charlie."

"I'm sorry about everyone," Ron said.

3.

Twelve Grimmauld Place was not as unchanged as Hogwarts. It had seen the effects of the preparation for all stages of the final fight against Voldemort and since Harry had left the previous morning, someone had done the dishes in the kitchen.

Moody had commandeered the dinning room and the spent the morning setting up for the reconstruction. Everyone who could, minus Snape, was there, and they ate lunch standing around the sides of the room because no one wanted to leave and then have to start again. Harry said his piece once in dry, carefully measured tones. He described meeting the patrol that killed Charlie, disarming the perimeter wards and triggering the second alarm system in the process, discovering the house unguarded and entering. Ron and Hermione wove their accounts through his, adding information and naming the particular spells they had used, until their narratives diverged.

Harry was then left to describe the basements; to tell them how he had freed Neville, how he had talked to Nagini and killed her, how they'd crawled through the house-elf tunnels and found themselves behind Voldemort in the long hallway on the first floor.

No one had asked him, after he had carried Neville out to the battle outside, what had happened. Harry had wanted them to ask, had wanted to shout that it wasn't fair and to tell them all how stupid Neville had been. Bill had taken Neville to Molly, and Augustus Pye asked Harry if he was injured. Now that he had come to say it all, Harry was glad for their silence, glad that he only had to re-live it once.

"Bellatrix and Snape were there," he said. "Bellatrix shouted when she saw us, that's how Neville recognised her. Voldemort turned around then, and I raised the vial of potion. Bellatrix had her wand out and she aimed it at me. She cast a charm, something yellow. I told Augustus that. Neville leapt to intercept it and fell to the ground. He didn't get up. I sent my Patronus at Voldemort and threw the Deliquescere potion. That's when Snape killed Bellatrix."

Snape's _Avada Kedavra_ was still echoing in Harry's mind. Neville had taken an unknown curse in the chest because he hadn't trusted Harry to duck and yell 'Expecto Patronum' at the same time. Bellatrix had raised her wand at Neville. Harry swallowed, forced himself to look at Moody, and lied.

"I don't remember how," he said.

The rest was easy. Bellatrix at Snape's feet and Neville at Harry's, but the plan had worked. There had been no need for last minute heroics or snap judgements.

"Kind of anti-climactic," Harry said, with a shrug. He was glad Snape was still with the few remaining Death Eaters rather than with them and able to read his thoughts.

Moody asked for Ron's account next and then Hermione's. Harry couldn't stay to listen. Hermione watched him leave with her 'that's puzzling' expression, but Ron shooed him away with a brief nod of his head. Harry had to smile; Hermione still couldn't understand not wanting to learn all one could.

Harry wandered away from the table into the space between the dining room and the hall at the back of the house. There was a cloak cupboard, still with cloaks and a mouldy smelling fur jacket. Harry ran his fingers over the fur wondering if he could push past it into Narnia. He stepped into the cupboard, welcoming the muffling of the voices which were once again listing spells.

The back of the cupboard felt slightly slippery when Harry walked into it, so he didn't lean against it. He leant against the cool, solid side wall instead and looked at the darkness. He felt that he could stay there for days, weeks perhaps. Then he wouldn't have to decide what he was going to do with the rest of his life.

Hermione was going to insist he sat his NEWTs, he knew that. And Ron would want him to join in the Auror training. But Harry had no remaining patience for the Ministry, not even with Kingsley and Tonks and Mr Weasley there. And NEWTs would only be useful if Harry could think of anything to do other than worry about Neville and re-living leaving Charlie to fend off three Death Eaters on his own.

This was the problem, Harry knew. He'd lived his life in the shadow of Voldemort's sociopathy, lost his parents and Sirius and Dumbledore and now Charlie. At breakfast he had wanted to ask if anyone felt the same baulking uncertainty at what was to come. But it seemed unfair to trouble them with something so minor when they were still cleaning up the major stuff. And anyway, they had all had lives before they met him, and they were going to back to them after the funerals.

Harry pulled his knees to his chest, rested his forehead against them, and wondered.

4.

Ron found him sometime later, the light from his wand and the squeak of his trainers giving him away.

Harry thought he had probably fallen asleep in the dark; it was kind of timeless in the cupboard. The dark was soothing, perhaps some weird remembrance of his cupboard, however ironic that might be. No, Harry thought, pushing his glasses back up his nose and looking at Ron, the Wizarding world was definitely better.

Ron sat down beside him, his shoulder brushing Harry's. Where Harry just fit between the hem of the cloaks and the back wall, there was now just room for Ron to fit beside him.

"Luna's on now," Ron said.

"Aha."

"It's very interesting in there."

"I'll watch Moody's thing," Harry said.

"Dinner soon."

Harry nodded. He wasn't hungry, but he thought he could probably eat something.

He wished Ron would turn off his wand and they could hide out together in the dark.

"Do you want to go and see Neville at St Mungo's?"

Harry jerked and clenched his fists.

"You could go down tomorrow. No one will stop you just walking down the street, now."

Harry thought of Sirius. He wanted to cry, but he couldn't feel anything other than dry, cold worry.

"How does it feel to be ordinary again?"

Ron was obviously trying to be amusing. Harry wasn't in the mood.

"I was never ordinary," he said.

"Maybe you can start," Ron replied, more keen for a response from Harry than the success of the joke.

Harry thought of Neville and the relief he felt at finding him alive. The relief and joy in Neville's eyes at seeing Harry in that basement made his fall to Bellatrix's spell that much harder to report.

"I don't think I'll ever be normal."

Ron clapped a hand on the back of Harry's neck, knocking him forward against his thighs. Ron's hand was big and warm, something real to concentrate on in the interstitial space of the expanding cupboard.

"Normal's boring," Ron told him. "I've just heard Luna describing Death Eaters by their hand spans and the colour of their shoes. She said it was harder than telling Blibbering Humdingers apart, but easier than Bunyips. That was worth it for the expression on Moody's face."

Harry nodded, trying to imagine it.

"Come on, let's get dinner," Ron said.

Ron stood up and held a hand out to Harry. Harry reached out and let himself be pulled to his feet. Food sounded good.

5.

Neville looked pale in the bright, white hospital room.

Harry stood at the door and watched the rise and fall of his chest, listened to the laboured breathing and pressed down on the desire to throw something heavy through the window. It probably wasn't a real window, not even for the man who took a curse for the Boy-Who-Lived.

Harry crossed the room and dropped into the chair beside Neville's bed, where he could watch Neville and keep an eye on the chart as it updated itself.

"The nurse said they want to do more tests tomorrow," Harry told him.

The nurses had told Harry to talk to Neville, even though it was likely he couldn't hear him, and definitely wouldn't respond. After all the talking and words the day before, Harry could not think of anything to say. He wrapped his fingers around Neville's thin wrist like an anchor.

"I didn't tell Moody about Snape and Bellatrix," he said, when he finally decided just to say anything. If Neville could hear him now, he had probably heard Snape then, too.

"I actually lied to Moody, which would be pretty stupid if he ever found out."

Harry paused. He ran his thumb across the back of Neville's hand, wondering at how dry and smooth the skin was. Neville had spent the last three months running on battle rage and fear, all hot and filled with desperate energy. Harry missed him.

"Maybe Moody already knows. Maybe Snape told him. Maybe he's glad I didn't say anything because now he doesn't have to report it and Snape doesn't have to go to Azkaban. Please wake up. I don't know what to do now."

Neville breathed in deeply, and then breathed out again.

Harry watched the coloured lines on Neville's chart sneak forward.

Harry didn't know how long he had been sitting there when Ron arrived. Time really didn't matter anymore, now that he wasn't waiting for something to be blown up or someone to not come back.

"Harry?" Ron said, tentative and curious.

Harry dropped Neville's hand and leapt to his feet, smoothing down his robes. Ron cocked his head to the side, watching Harry's nervous movements with half a smile.

"How is he?" he asked.

Harry glanced down at Neville and back at Ron, as though the question were unclear.

"Ah, the nurses, well, they still don't know what's going to happen."

"He'll pull through. Curses can either be broken, or they have symptoms that can be treated. Bill's working with Snape on what it was, and St Mungo's really are the best. Besides," Ron added, "no one ever knows what's going to happen."

"I know." Harry sighed. "It's just—"

"He's hurt because he wanted to help you fight, and you blame yourself even though he chose it." Harry began to feel the familiar warmth of anger in his gut. Ron didn't understand that it wasn't as simple as that. Ron shrugged when Harry glared at him. "I don't know anything, I just listen to Hermione.

"Everyone wanted to fight, Harry, and we all knew the risks. You can't blame yourself for all the bad that happened in the battle unless you also take credit for all the people who are going to be safe and happy now that Voldemort's gone."

Harry turned away from Ron's resolute expression to look at Neville again.

"I love him," he said.

Ron was stunned to silence. Harry was almost amused that Hermione hadn't fed him any words of wisdom for this conversation. He wanted to say something biting, but didn't feel that it was worth how pathetic Ron looked when he was hurt. Harry wanted a real enemy again, someone he could hate with his whole body so there wasn't room for fear or doubt.

He hadn't had a chance to tell Neville that the three days he'd been prisoner had been the worst stretch of Harry's life, that after the tension and the pleasure and the 'it's just 'cause of the war' what Harry missed most was Neville's delighted gasp whenever Harry questioned Moody.

"Harry?"

Harry snapped his head up to look at Ron. He could feel himself blushing. The squirming in his stomach was only about what Ron would say or do next. It was like the world had shrunk down to the size of the room—just large enough for Harry to deal with, to have feelings about.

"How long?" Ron asked. "I mean, you're together?"

Harry nodded and swallowed.

"A few months. After that thing with Draco and Lucius. We just needed some—"

"Yeah," Ron said, remembering the recklessness. "It was that kind of week." He made an amused sound in the back of his throat. "I never picked Neville."

"But you picked me?" Harry demanded.

Ron raised his hands defensively. "I figured you had to have a pretty good reason for giving Ginny up."

Harry's anger deflated. He rested his head on his hands and his elbows on the side of the bed. He cast his mind back to fifth year, to first year, to before he'd learn he was wizard, trying to remember the plans he'd made for his life.

"Hermione and me are getting married," Ron told him, his voice devoid of emotion. He'd said, 'They took Neville,' in the same way.

"Why? Are you sure it's—?"

"No. But Hermione said after four years we'll decide whether we want to divorce or recommit. She wants to give people something to look forward, too. A new start."

"For four years?" Harry still couldn't process the idea. Ron and Hermione being together was easy, but married was whole step into adulthood and responsibility that made Harry very uncomfortable.

Ron shrugged. "My parents got married at nineteen. Your parents were married at eighteen. So we'll definitely know by then whether it's for real. But I think so."

"My parents were only together for three years. Then they were killed."

"For God's sake, Harry, stop it!"

Ron's voice was shockingly loud. Harry glanced at Neville as thought it might have woken him up.

"This is bloody scary," Ron went on, more quietly but just as fierce. "More scary than anything we could fight. But we've been fighting since we were twelve. Neville is going to be fine. Voldemort is dead. Stop worrying about what's going to happen next and start worrying about what's happening now. Mum's making steak and kidney pie for dinner; do you want to find a quiet Muggle pub and have a couple of drinks first? You can tell me all about how brilliant Neville is if I can tell you how brilliant Hermione is."

Harry squeezed his hand around Neville's wrist and felt the steady beat of his pulse. He let go slowly and stood up. He heard Ron push his chair back, but he paused for Harry to make his farewells.

Harry leant down to press a kiss to Neville's cheek.

"I'll come and see you again tomorrow," he said quietly.

It was probably just in his imagination that Neville's eyelids flickered, but Harry's heart beat faster anyway. He turned back to Ron with a bright smile.

"There's a decent place just a couple of blocks away."

"Good," Ron said. "Lead on."

He stood aside as Harry as walked out, glancing once back over his shoulder, and followed him down the hall and out into the evening light.

-end-


End file.
